


Fire is Her Water

by ceresilupin



Series: The Lights in the Shadow [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU Character Deaths, Body Horror, Dark Future Flashbacks, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceresilupin/pseuds/ceresilupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor dealing with the fallout from Redcliffe, with some help from Cullen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire is Her Water

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for some body horror/mutilation and character death in the dark future. Also, there is some discussion of PTSD and panic attacks.
> 
> My favorite lines from the Chant of Light: For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water / As the moth sees light and goes toward flame / She should see fire and go towards Light. All references to the Chant are from the wiki: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Chant_of_Light_Verses#Canticle_of_Transfigurations
> 
> Originally posted on the kink meme, here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=47137368#t47137368

Evelyn’s sister had the worst anxiety. Her mother only said that it ran in the family, and that Lissie was exactly like her grandmother had been, and that she would be all right, in time.

But Evelyn had never known her maternal grandmother, only Lissie. And her older sister’s panic attacks and agoraphobia had loomed large over her childhood. Frightened of the way she sometimes found her gasping and clutching her chest, Evelyn had done everything in her power to help her. This mostly meant books. Books, and stories, and enduring the confusing swelter of questions Lissie sometimes couldn’t contain – what would they do if their parents died? If the darkspawn came back? If the castle fell down on top of them one night in their sleep? If the Tantervales invaded?

What if the Maker returned, and they were judged unworthy? Would they become demons? What if she was secretly a mage, doomed to live in sin?

In time, and after a visit from a Spirit Healer who traveled all the way from Ferelden, Lissie improved. She could leave her rooms, eat in front of her family, and sleep the night through. Evelyn’s oldest sister, the heir – old enough that her son was only one year younger than Evelyn herself – promised that Lissie would always have a home in the castle. When Evelyn had cut ties with her family, she was certain that Lissie would always be taken care of, and yet she worried terribly for her, and missed her even more.

It is Lissie’s panic attacks that she thinks of now. Usually they had involved pain in her chest and feeling out-of-breath, but one late night she had come to Evelyn feeling strangely cold. Her manner had been calm, even bemused, but she had been shivering, teeth chattering, even as Evelyn found her fingertips, toes, and nose to all be quite warm. The cold had come from inside her, and there was nothing Evelyn could do to fix that.

Evelyn feels that way now. Quite literally – she had woken from a doze, her first sleep since traveling through time at Redcliff, and found herself shivering. Stirring up the fire, wrapping herself in blankets and cloaks . . . nothing helped. Eventually, she realized that it wasn’t literal cold that she was suffering, and that just like Lissie, all she could do was wait for it to pass.

So, contrarily, she went outside. If she was going to shiver, she might as well do it in the _actual_ cold, with the sky open above her.

~

The Breach was an ugly, scarring green, just like the mark on her hand, but the rest of the sky was velvet-black and glittering with stars. Nothing like the nightmare she’d seen in Redcliff – the ground and buildings had been dissolving there, pulled upwards as if gravity had switched sides. Everything had been green and yellow, she remembered. She still found herself shocked by flashes of red, like the handkerchief stuffed with cookies that she’d found in her pillow a few hours ago (trust Sera to give a gift that was also a prank).

Still shivering, Evelyn sat on the low wall that led to her cabin. It was the smallest of the lot, but unlike everyone else’s quarters, including Lady Montilyet’s, it belonged to her alone. A luxury she had tried and failed to refuse.

With her cloak wrapped around her shoulders, the fur-lined collar and hood pulled over her hair and tucked around her face, she hoped she was unrecognizable. She thought she saw the passing guards staring, but it was hard to tell. She suspected that the game was up when she recognized the heavy crunch of Commander Cullen’s footsteps – he wore no cloak, as usual, just his armor and robes, which seemed to keep him warm. He spared her a single glance as he passed on his way to his own shared cabin, some scrolls and tablets in hand. After a brief glimpse his tired face, Evelyn turned away.

She heard his door close, and thought that was the last of it. She returned to her bleary musings, shaking all the while. But a moment later, the door sounded again and his footsteps returned.

He dropped into a seat beside her without preamble, resting his elbows on his spread knees, leaning slightly forward. She caught him looking at her face and curled tighter beneath her cloak, clenching her teeth to hide her shivers.

Cullen’s idle gaze slid away, roving over the distant walls. “Trouble sleeping?” he asked lightly.

Evelyn nodded, wracked briefly by a belly-deep shudder.

Cullen seemed to be waiting for her to explain, but she genuinely couldn’t think of anything that she wanted to say. Nothing that she could get out, anyway, past her chattering teeth. After a long stretch, Cullen finally gave up, shifting so that his weight rested on his left elbow, leaving him to regard her thoughtfully.

“You haven’t slept yet, since you – defeated Alexius.” They were all having trouble figuring out what to call it. “According to Solas’ report. And you haven’t eaten.”

Evelyn pulled the cloak tighter, trying to block him out. There was no wind tonight, and the promise of snow come morning meant the air was surprisingly warm. But she was _so cold._

“It’s your business,” Cullen said guardedly. “But, well – the servants have noticed. And once the servants notice, the soldiers will hear, and then . . . they’re a gossipy bunch.” The corner of his mouth lifted briefly. “Ought to put them in charge of counter-intelligence. They’d have more fun with it than Leliana.”

Perhaps he meant for the words to be encouraging. Or helpful somehow, a light joke. Cullen possessed about as much malice as a litter of puppies, after all. But all it did was increase the pressure upon her. Her headache had followed her from Redcliffe, and her tense jaw wasn’t helping. Her stomach roiled nervously at the thought that she was failing, disappointing everyone again. And there was no escape from any of it – she had nowhere to go, no one to take her in if she fled.

Somehow, Cullen was able to identify her arm in the tangle of limbs beneath her cloak, and he touched it lightly. “We’re worried, Herald,” he said gently. “We would worry less, and you would feel better, if you talked to us.”

Evelyn half-laughed, regretting it instantly as a new round of shivers wracked her body. And that was what gave her away.

Cullen’s hand left her arm, settling on her shoulder hard. “Turn to face me,” he ordered, in his Commander voice.

Evelyn knew what was coming, and instead she tried to pull away, flushing in anticipated humiliation.

Cullen’s grip didn’t slacken. “Easy, now,” he said as she yanked desperately, trying to scoot away. “Herald, you’re shaking. How long have you been out here?”

His voice was sharp, his expression – when he stepped around her and crouched so that she couldn’t avoid him any longer – stern. Evelyn shook her head, not trusting herself to speak, but once they were acknowledged her shivers could no longer be contained. Her teeth erupted in chattering, belly shuddering, limbs twitching. She curled around her core, as if preserving heat would help when the cold was bone-deep.

“Maker give me strength,” Cullen muttered, genuine aggravation in his voice. “You can’t do this to yourself, Herald. People need you.”

Evelyn hid her head in her hands, shaking and shaking and shaking. Finally, Cullen tired of her silent routine and pulled her to her feet, none-too-gently when she was uncooperative. He guided her to her cabin without a word, his left arm around her back, and pushed open the heavy door one-handed.

Inside, she was blasted by heat and light, enough that her eyes throbbed. It was like being stabbed by Vivienne’s lightning, arcing bolts spreading through her brain. She threw up a shaking hand to protect herself.

“At least it’s warm in here,” Cullen said, also grimacing at the brightness. He shifted his grip on Evelyn in order to close the door, and guided her to the chair beside the fire. He saw the blankets from before and hesitated minutely, finally dumping her into the seat and wrapping one around her.

The heat was too much, after so much time outside. Not only were her shivers not abating, but she felt like she was about to suffocate. Her head was aching, her back and stomach were sore from shivering, and now her breath was coming short and panicked as her arms were pinned to her sides—

With an effort, Evelyn fought her way free of her wrappings. Cullen had been moving about, discarding his robe in the heat of the room. He caught her before she could toss the blanket aside.

“Are you trying to torture yourself?” he demanded impatiently. “You need to warm up.”

“I’m not _cold,_ ” Evelyn snarled, or tried; it came out closer to _I-I’m n-no-ot co-ld_ ,but with enough indignation that Cullen appeared to understand.

Eyebrows raised, he took the blanket she pushed aside and caught her hand, pressing it between his. Finding it warm, he checked her other hand, and then her face. She submitted to his careful touch, eyes fluttering closed. It took her a moment to realize how _good_ it felt, and then she jerked back, embarrassed.

Frowning, brow furrowed, Cullen turned to adjust the fire. Breaking it up brought the level of heat down to a more manageable level, and gave Evelyn time to catch her breath and calm herself. She pressed her fingertips to her eyelids, attempting to massage away the hammer that pounded beneath them.

Cullen’s voice was softer now, abashed instead of irritated. “Are you injured?” he asked.

She’d been checked over by Solas multiple times during the trip back to Haven, not to mention Mother Giselle’s healers. She was getting tired of being asked that question, if only because it was so close to the truth. She had been hurt at Redcliffe, but it was nothing anyone could heal. “No,” she said, or rather stammered.

“You’re certain? No pain in your abdomen or head?”

Evelyn shook her head mutely.

Cullen tapped her wrist. “Let me see your eyes,” he ordered, evidently deciding not to take her at her word. Sighing, Evelyn let her hands fall.

It was uncomfortable, staring into the handsome Commander’s face, but she was the only one who noticed; Cullen seemed unbothered. He gripped her chin and tilted her head back and forth, first ordering her to keep her eyes on him, then asking her to stare to the side. When this revealed nothing, his frown deepened. “Where is the pain in your head?”

Evelyn stared at him dully, wishing he would just go away. He took a deep breath, clearly marshalling his patience, and prompted, “Herald?”

“Behind my eyes,” Evelyn mumbled, as best she could between chattering teeth. “My jaw. In the top.”

“In the top,” Cullen repeated thoughtfully. He checked her eyes again, and then stood to check her head – not just the top, but also the hinge of her jaw, the base of her skull. He seemed unconcerned by her messy ponytail and unwashed hair, sliding his hard, callused fingers over her scalp carefully. When he circled back around, his head was canted, eyes distant, as if he was listening to something she couldn’t hear.

“No injuries that I can detect,” Cullen finally admitted. His hand fell away, and Evelyn was surprised to see it glowing pale blue. She missed the lack of contact immediately, and then felt pathetic. But his hand had felt good in her hair. “And no demons, either.”

“Only mages can be possessed,” Evelyn protested, the words made choppy by a hard shudder, but Cullen heard. His expression darkened, became incredibly bleak, and then he shook it off.

“Not always,” he said, moving about the small room restlessly. “Not when someone is – sufficiently determined.” He paused briefly, staring out a window and apparently into the past, before sighing. He returned to the fire to rest his elbows on the back of another armchair, rubbing his face.

Evelyn felt a pang of guilt. He looked up and caught her watching him, and something in her face must have given her away. He forced a little smile. “Don’t worry,” he promised. “We’ll sort this out.”

Evelyn averted her gaze. “S-sorry.”

His voice softened. “Don’t apologize.” He sighed again, as she continued to look away, and then moved around to sit carefully. He looked different, even from the corner of her eye, without his robe and mantle – smaller, of course, but also harder.

“ _I_ think I should be apologizing to _you_ , in any event,” Cullen continued, a beat later. “I’ve been short with you tonight, and you’re in pain.”

Evelyn didn’t respond.

Cullen finally broke the silence. “As far as I can tell,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably, “you are uninjured. And there are no curses active, and no signs of possession.”

Evelyn ducked her head, almost able to rest her forehead on her knees.

Cullen seemed to take it as a reaction rather than an attempt at escape. He lowered his voice still further, leaning in to rest his hand on her shoulder again. “Tell me what’s wrong, Herald. Was it what you saw? In that – dark future?”

Evelyn closed her eyes, and that was a mistake. Because, between one blink in the next, it came flooding back.

~

_Leliana’s face was usually sharp and beautiful, like a statue carved from polished marble. But when Evelyn found her there . . . around her left eye and the corner her mouth, it looked like she’d simply aged, three dozen years in one. Not so bad. But the rest – her torturers had peeled away strips of her flesh, and then used some foul magic to break and re-grow the bone. Horribly knobbly and deformed, it sprouted from papery skin like coral. Her veins were spidery and black, like someone suffering from the Blight._

_She looked like a demon. Like an abomination. Evelyn could barely stand to look at her, but she did, apologizing with tears in her throat. Leliana watched as if from miles away, cold and remote, as distant as her god._

_Solas’s face was bruised, not just around his red, glowing eyes, but everywhere. The ugly marks appeared over the course of their adventure, and occasionally they broke open and purple-red blood oozed out. Solas didn’t seem to notice. His skin hung loose and peeling. Part of the back of his skull was exposed, as if the skin had simply worn so thin that the bone showed through, but it was all strangely bloodless. His mouth was downturned, constantly on the verge of tears. When Evelyn tried to apologize to him, he begged for her forgiveness instead, ordered her to save them all, his eyes staring past her into distant horrors._

_The Iron Bull sang, drinking songs and tavern chants, anything he could think of. He called for Krem and the Chargers and then remembered, a beat later, that they were dead, the grief as fresh as new. He laughed at Dorian’s first attempt at a joke, so hard and uproarious that Dorian never joked again, distinctly uncomfortable with his reaction. He talked to himself in his other language, Qunlat, and sang something that sounded like a lullaby._

_She wanted to go home. That was all she thought, that entire time –_ I want to go home, I want to go home. _Home was Haven, or Lissie’s room, home was a blue sky and a yellow sun, or a snowy mountaintop at night._ Maker, let me go home, _she prayed, and she hadn’t prayed in years, not since she abandoned her family and their hypocrisy._ I just want to go home.

_They found Tevinter mages in the library, and in the defiled chantry. There were Templars in the courtyard, red lyrium sprouting from their skin. Evelyn wrenched her eyes away from the distorted sky, bringing her bow up and firing on instinct as Bull roared—_

_And she found herself face-to-face with the Commander, his face pristine and untouched, beautifully handsome, his armor as shining as ever. But the lyrium—_

~

  
Evelyn cried out, interrupting Cullen’s words as she jumped up from her seat. He stood and caught her before she could pitch into the fireplace, her weight slamming into his armored chest and driving him to his knees. She began to sob, dry sobs bracketed by gasps that didn’t bring enough air, there wasn’t enough air, she clawed at his chestplate, his gauntlets, as he tried to hold her still—

When she came to, the strange, foggy blankness lifting, Cullen was kneeling on the rug, half-holding her, rocking her gently and reciting the Chant. In her dreamlike state, she could only pick out phrases, like _blessed Andraste._ And _though the lands suffer a thousand wrongs, the maker yet notices the smallest of deeds._ And _my faith sustains me, I shall not fear,_ and _find me well within Your grace,_ and on and on.

Eventually, his voice ran out, and the world steadied. Breathing deeply, carefully past her clogged nose, Evelyn braced her hand on his chest. She still trembled, but much less than before.

She pushed herself back, sitting on her haunches, and looked at the Commander steadily. His expression was drawn and tired, completely drained, none of the unnerving blankness that she remembered from Redcliffe. (At first, when they’d been fighting and he was trying to kill her, he’d approached her with an unfeeling focus that was more terrifying than the lyrium sprouting from his body. After, when he was finally dead, his blank staring eyes had been locked on the shattered sky.

Leliana had turned him over with her foot, saying, _in truth, he died long ago._ Evelyn hadn’t been able to stop crying. Dorian had held her, dragged her to her feet, and snarled at Leliana when the woman ordered her to be silent.)

Evelyn breathed deeply, carefully. Remembering. Letting go. She blinked and it was still Cullen, face full of feeling, haggard and concerned.

Cullen’s eyes were red. “Feel better?” he rasped.

Evelyn tilted her head. “Was I – talking out loud?” Her teeth weren’t chattering anymore, she realized.

“No. But you were – gone. Dreaming with your eyes open. Only for a second, but I’ve seen it before.” Cullen rubbed his face again, bare-handed; he must have removed his gloves at some point. “What you saw there . . . it must have been horrible. To prompt a reaction like that.”

Evelyn stared at him dazedly. “It was,” she finally mumbled. She had cried when she’d seen Leliana again, whole and beautiful and unharmed. The spymaster had instantly guided her inside the Chantry, away from staring eyes, grasping her shoulders and rubbing her arms and hands until she’d calmed. Evelyn had been powerfully embarrassed, both by her display and the fact that—

She must look insane to them, mustn’t she? To everyone but Dorian.

She realized she was staring, when she caught Cullen peeking from under his brows, clearly working up the courage to say something. Finally, he asked, “Was I there?”

Evelyn shuddered, lips parting, the memory of his blade biting into her neck. She would have died then, if not for Solas’ healing. “Yes.”

“Ah.” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can go – fetch the Tevinter—“

“No,” Evelyn interrupted. Her voice was low and scraping, deathly calm, but at least it was working. “No. You’re okay. You’re not him. You’re okay.”

Cullen’s hand dropped. He opened and closed it, staring into his palm as if the vision her words summoned hurt him terribly, and then rubbed his face again. Evelyn stirred, sniffling, feeling a bit like she’d just woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, looking around. “I’m keeping you from your rest, aren’t I? You look so tired. . . .”

Cullen smiled briefly. “Don’t apologize,” he said again, just as he had before, very tenderly. And then he took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Herald – Evelyn – I want you to know, I am here for you, whatever you need. And I. . . .” He paused, exhaling. “I know what it’s like, to live through something like that. Don’t ask me what it was—“

His voice was suddenly harsh, grinding. Hastily Evelyn shook her head, murmuring, “No, of course not—“

Cullen laughed uncomfortably, and then tipped his head back, resting it against the cushion of the chair behind him. “I know what it is like,” he said again, slowly and precisely, and then grimaced and closed his eyes.

Evelyn stared down at her knees as he stared at the ceiling. Distantly, she thought that she might be able to sleep now. The quakes were still there, but subdued – and it was so _nice_ to not be shivering anymore. Her muscles and head sang with relief. Amazing, how good the absence of pain could be.

When she finally lifted her head, Cullen was staring into the fire. He turned to her. “Can you sleep, now?” he asked, eyelids dipping in a weary blink.

Evelyn found a smile for him, from somewhere. “Yes,” she murmured. “Can you?”

He smirked briefly. “Yes,” he promised fervently. Evelyn chuckled, and his smile broadened. When he twisted to stand, Evelyn got to her feet first and leant him a hand. He was heavy, of course, so he still did most of the lifting, but she did steady him a bit. She helped him find his gloves as he shrugged back into his robe. He hadn’t worn his sword to speak with her, so that was fine. And he’d left his papers in his room before coming out to check on her. It looked like he had everything.

She stood by the door, watching him adjust his gauntlets unnecessarily. “Thank you,” she ventured carefully.

Cullen’s head flew up. He looked at her with startled, light brown eyes. “You don’t have to thank me,” he blurted.

“I want to,” she admitted.

He smiled briefly, and inclined his head graciously. “Then I won’t stop you.” He paused. “And you are very welcome.” After a brief hesitation, he patted her shoulder, ordered her to rest well, and let himself out.

Evelyn closed the door behind him, fetched her blanket from the floor, and collapsed into bed to sleep.

~

 _She’s shivering again, so hard everything hurts, and this time it_ is _from the cold. Her uncovered fingers are black and blue, her legs are numb. She wants to stop more than she has ever wanted anything in her life, but she has made a bargain with herself; no stopping until she’s completed the chant of Transfigurations. The canticle was chosen at random, and it’s not one of her favorites – she’s had to start over twice when she lost track._

 _It has no meaning to her right now. Just words, just an obstacle between her and rest. But it is, in its way, a final act of defiance. If anyone ever finds her corpse, they’ll have no way of knowing when she gave up, but_ she’ll _know. It wasn’t until long, long after she first wanted to. It wasn’t until long, long after her body began to fail. In the end, she gave everything she could._

_They won’t know, but she’ll know. She keeps reciting._

_She’s reached '_ she should see fire and go towards Light' --  _almost the very end -- when Cullen finds her. She collapses against the solidness of him – too cold, no feeling in her face, can’t tell if it’s armor or cloth, all she can feel is resistance – and smiles as Cassandra’s bellowed orders and his desperate pleas echo around her._

_She’s home._


End file.
